Izuo Drabbles
by HailForTheQueen
Summary: Hey, I saw all of the lovely 30 day challenges and drabbles out there and couldn't help but want to join in on the fun even though nobody likes me and wants me to. But, oh well! Each of these little drabbles are inspired by a song when I listened to my music on shuffle, so, enjoy..? M for future smut
1. I Dreamed A Dream

_**Disclaimer: I own neit**_ _ **her Durarara! or the song mentioned**_

 _ **This one was 'I Dreamed A Dream' by Susan Boyle**_  
 _ **Don't judge me...**_  
 _ **I'll update this regularly as they don't take long and it would be nice for you guys to read when I'm super late on chapter updates or if you just generally like them haha :)**_  
 _ **I'd appreciate your kudos and comments so, feel free to leave some!**_

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No... He thought, his head snapping from side to side, eyes frantically searching for a ghost - a fleeting phantom he could never quite catch, fingertips just falling short of his vison.

"No..." He mumbled the tears welling in his eyes and stinging like acid, attacking as if to say that no, monster's like himself shouldn't be crying, they shouldn't shed tears, the lump forming in his throat as if to say that a monster's voice should ever sound so weak and so vulnerable, that Shizuo Heiwajima should not be in a state even remotely similar to this one.

And for what? Why is he in this predicament, a bystander of he city might wonder. They may even frown at the thought of a great man such as Heiwajima - one who has thrown vending machines and bone-breaking punches as if it were as natural as breathing - kneeling on dirty living room carpet, tuffs of blonde hair falling from lithe shaking fingers clawing at his own scalp. Why is he trembling? Why is he breaking into a hoarse sob?

"Flea..." He whispered, crumpling backwards so his that back leaned against a cracked wall.

Ah, the flea.

That's why the Fortissimo of Ikebukuro has been reduced to this pathetic human, this debris of the powerful man that was once more than a rumour akin to the Headless Rider. Because of the informant that had tortured him since the very first day they met. Because of his enemy who had proven to harbour feelings of interest, something more than a passionate hate that had taken quite the toll on the unfortunate blonde, infatuating him as time passed. And the raven had taken advantage of that, smirking until he himself had to come to terms with the alien feeling weighing heavily on his chest.

They were young, unafraid and uncomprehending of what true pain was, of what it meant to lose. They yelled, fought, loved, chased, argued, revelled in each others presence and for once, their hopes were high, their lives worth living if they could live it together. Happiness was not too far away from what they felt though, could it last forever? Too good to be true, there had to be some repercussion hiding among the light of the stars that seemed to shine so bright, blindingly so, giving a cover of anonymity to any underlying consequences from the change in their relationship.

And so the aftermath of this change of events could still be felt today, sending after-shock waves through Shizuo's body, ripping the scattered pieces of his heart sinking into an abyss. It could be felt in the way his voice broke after screaming the raven's name, loud and agonised, not the way they used to, the opposite of how he used to yell it in a provoke rage or murmur it like a prayer, a holy chant.

Izaya was gone, and no amount of screaming hopelessly to the dead would bring him back, you cannot wake a lost soul, no matter how many times the mantra fell from his mouth, no matter how many tears streamed down his face, no matter how many times his smirking face appeared in Shizuo's dreams.

Only God knows why Shizuo hadn't given up the day he'd watched Izaya's lifeless body thrown into an encasing box of wood and buried under layers of dirt. Only God and what little of his heart he had left. He dreamed that someday he'd see that face again, that enraging, beautiful face. That he would walk into their shared apartment like he was royalty, throwing an off-hand insult to see if Shizuo's would take the teasing bait.

But he never would. They had lived no longer and no less than a year together. And yet he dreamed that they would live together for the rest of their lives, he dreamed that Izaya would somehow rise from his coffin.

But there are dreams that cannot be, he would realise when he woke up screaming after seeing the raven die before his eyes over and over again. It was as if the memory was stuck on replay, each time he closed his eyes, those pleading maroon orbs stared at him, begging for his help before they dulled, closing, never to re-open. It was a personal hell he'd never so much as imagined he would have the misfortune of having of having to reside in.

And so he went on chasing the fleeting smirk of his long-gone lover until the day he lay down, his eye closing and last tears falling as he slipped away, someplace where Izaya was waiting for him, smiling as he took the blonde's hand into his own welcoming him into foreign place and away from the life that had killed the dream he'd so innocently dreamed.


	2. Smother

_**This one was inspired by the song 'Smother' by Daughter. The main characters of this one are Shizuo and Kasuka with mentions of Izaya. Enjoy this chapter and please leave kudos and comments! I love seeing them, it helps so much with writing! (/)**_

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"I'm so stupid..." He muttered under his breath, burying his face into his palms to hide the dark bags under his eyes from an analytical gaze.

"Nii-san," Kasuka says, not really asking, just an acknowledgement of his brother's exhaustion and a small indication to continue. Even though his voice is monotonous as usual, Shizuo likes to think that hears a whisper of concern floating across to him. It makes him smile, short-lived and slightly subdued but it's a smile nonetheless. It feels strangely foreign sitting on his lips, even the slightest upturn of the corners is something he hasn't done in months. How depressing, to think that very bane of his existence could wipe a smile from his face, even when he's in the presence of his precious brother, to think that he held such an impact.

When Shizuo lets out a weary sigh, muffled by his palms, Kasuka barely blinks, only leaning back slightly as his ever-lasting patience keeps his persistent thoughts locked in his head as opposed to crossing the distance to Shizuo.

Shizuo, who is presently taking in measured breaths of air, attempting to sort his thoughts as to be able to speak the clearly. But where does he start? Maybe with the clearest statement, I'll go from there.

"I love him." Just saying the three words seems to lift a weight. Seeing Kasuka nod his head in acknowledgement only seems to further help. He lets out a lungful of air, throws his head back and stares at the ceiling for a while. After that, the words just seem to float out.

"I love him. I want him." He clutches at the pillow laying in the comfort of his lap. "He's not mine, but I want him. I seem to want everything that isn't mine." He lets out a long breath which seems to convey his dejection, his sorrow.

He sits up then and looks into his brother's eyes, which subtly surprises Kasuka. Because it's then that he sees how truly depressed his brother has become, all of his raging anger mellowed into something crestfallen, almost pleading for something that he can't quite comprehend. It's like watching a balloon, slowly filling with hot air through years of uncontrollable temper and becoming this great yet simple being, only to have someone with a provoking holier-than-thou attitude tug at the knot and let everything out, leaving a deflated depression in his wake. "I hate this." He hears Shizuo says, and blinks. Because they're no longer making eye contact, his older brother is now curled up on the sofa before him, hugging a discarded pillow to his chest his crestfallen eyes and his head lowered, as if the weight of the world held it there.

"I hate who I am and I hate what I do."

Kasuka gave him a look in which seemed to say 'What do you mean, Nii-san?'

He continues with a soft, pensive tone. "I suffocate people." He pauses, letting both of them reflect on what exactly he had meant, because at the time it seemed like the logical thing to explain himself. As if he was self-correcting, he stutters on. "I smother people. I cling to them so tightly it becomes too much to handle. And then they suffocate. I'm a suffocator." He looks at Kasuka then, who'd been passively listening, with some kind of inarticulate resolution, overwhelmingly dull in his eyes. "I'm a suffocator."

For a moment, Kasuka just stares on, eyes slightly wider and breathing paused. Then he says: "Nii-san..." and Shizuo just smiles faintly and tells him it's okay, give him thanks for listening and makes a move to stand and leave.

But by the time that's happened, Kasuka's out of his speechless trance and stops him. The touch of his younger brother seems to spark some realisation inside of him that makes him gasp.

"Oh no..." He mumbles, before looking at his brother. "I'm sorry if I smothered you, I sometimes wish I'd just never been born."

And Kasuka was never quite good at offering consolation, even less so when taken by surprise by his brother's blatant depression. So when the white shirt sleeve is tugged free from his hand, he does nothing but watch a lithe form dressed as a bartender and framed by a mop of blonde hair retreat to the door and leave with a quiet click and a mumbled 'I should go now.", leaving him there, speechless.

Shizuo walks along the streets, vaguely lit by flickering street lamps, almost useless in the darkness of a late Winter night. He doesn't know where his feet are taking him, but he trusts them enough to not think hard about it, instead thinking of how he'd smothered Izaya. How he'd chased and chased and loved and confessed and been shot down. How he'd been told nobody could love a monster such as himself who constantly pursued people, day by day in the hopes of somehow earning a scrap of love. How ashamed he'd felt and how he'd realised that the spiteful words indeed told the truth, something he's never realised but applied to everyone he cared for.

He thinks more along those lines in the dominating silence of the night, one so complete it almost suppresses anything passing along through his mind. The coldness nips at the tip of his nose and ears, unprotected by the winter's wrath. He drops his head, unseeing and he walks the lonely path he's moulded for hours upon hours upon hours. He walks through the night and into the next until his feet's protests are enough to force him to stop and rest in a place that is no longer Ikebukuro, but some foreign town in which he'll pass in a few hours. Where he'll end up, he's not quite sure but he's confident that he won't mind. He just wants to find a place where his bones may one day lay down and sleep, a place where he'll someday meet his creator, maybe the only thing left that he doesn't have the power to smother.


End file.
